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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Jottings From Journeys #661915 added August 3, 2009 at 12:23am
Restrictions: None
In Manhattan, Once More --July 8 to Aug. 2
NY Images-- From my daily journal-- Some of the photos in:
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1780216275&ref=name#/album.php?aid=5320&i...
At PBI, Ned makes me laugh. There was a clowning employee at the ticket counter. Ned takes what the employee says for real. The man is joking when he says they have all the seats free and we can go with any flight we choose, whereas we had online reservations already. Ned turns around and asks him if we can change our tickets for an earlier flight. Then the man gets serious and tells him it will cost eighty bucks extra, and we'll have to sit separately, to boot. Ned complains to me later. Funny!
Flight-- Bumpy ride, lucky I have earpods with me. They charge two dollars per person for earphones that they used to give for free, seven dollars if you want pillow and blanket. The hostess Teresa keeps joking, too. What is this? Is Jet Blue teaching its employees to fool around with customers or what! Bumpy Ride. Some people are scared.
Airport-- Lighted but it is dark outside. Crowded. Walking down out to the street. Going for the taxi stand the wrong way then turnng around to stand in line.
People comment on how little we carry.
In the Taxi: Too noisy but I try to call because I promised Ana, my daughter-in-law. Kids worry about us. They worried us while growing up, now they worry for us. I find a voice mail from G. Obviously he tried to call while we were in the plane. He says he'll call the next day. It is impossible to talk to Ana from the noise. Taxi's window is open; no AC. All the street noise is inside on the outskirts of the city, but when we enter Manhattan, the noise, remarkably, subsides. When we are at 23rd and Park, Ana calls back and we talk. She'll call again the next day.
As soon as we enter the city, I feel happy. I am young again. This city always does something positive to me.
Hotel: Great hotel, clean.good rug, perfect rooms, king-size bed, modern wood furniture, leather armchair, desk. I wonder if I can get online.Very pleasant. We're on the 41st floor, looking over two streets. Neat view! Watching the streets from the window feels like looking from the navel opening of a beast. I still have to raise my head to see the sky and the tops of the surrounding buildings. Then I have to really look down to see the streets.
Ned's hungry. We leave our things in the room and go down to walk on the street. So many places to eat. A deli on 44th street across from the hotel, a Mexican restaurant, then on Broadway life throbs with food everywhere. They have cordoned off the street where Howard Johnson's used to be.
We walk to Roxy's. Oh, how I have missed the place! We sit in the back in a booth. It is not crowded since it is after 11PM. We order milk and hot pastrami on rye. What else! I have missed this food and this place so! I glance at the cartoon photos of the celebrities on the wall, the large mirror in between them. Our waiter is a tall, good-looking, black man. Very pleasant. Another waitress with yellow hair tied in back leaves. A few minutes later another young cheerful woman walks in to take over her job. Shift change, I guess.
The waiter brings a box for our leftovers. I don't know where we'll keep them. Probably we'll get ice and keep it in the ice-box.
Then the chef walks by. (Description) Short, large moon-face, plumb, belly walks before him, Charlie Chan beard. Thick eye-brows meeting in the middle.He has the white chef regalia with cap and everything. One look at him and I find my favorite chef figure.
Ned pays with a credit card. I don't want to leave here. Roxy's is Broadway, is NYC.
The Avenue Broadway is crowded. Side-walk artists, so many of them, draw portraits of people. Some are pretty good in finding a physical resemblance. I had studied portrait painting. Our main discussion was resemblance versus art or rather capturing the person. They do well with physical resemblance. The rest I am reluctant to comment on.
Artists are not the only ones. Tourists are taking photos; young boys skateboard on the closed part of the street. What a novel idea to close up a part of the city street for skateboarders! We slither through them and walk back to the hotel. I should have taken my camera, but if I had, would I have enjoyed and noticed so much? That is my pet peeve with the camera. While you note the moment, you take away from the enjoyment of it. Photographers have to be the least selfish people. I opt for the enjoyment, well....mostly.
Day Second
Early in the morning G calls. He says he's coming over as soon as possible. In the meantime, we go to the Deli on 44th St. and get breakfast stuff to eat. I get a fruit cup and water; Ned gets a banana, watermelon cup, a muffin and water. He doesn't want the coffee from there. But then after we come in the room, he wants the coffee anyway and goes back for it.
G shows up around 11, his old self. We go out altogether. We walk on the street several blocks to Lincoln center, where I take pictures.
My leg bothers me and my feet, too. The right foot is a new event. I worry about it getting worse, but we keep going finally we get a taxi and go to Lincoln center. We first want to eat. Actually I don't because I have already eaten twice the food I normally eat, but G is hungry and we want to feed him, as usual. So we sit at a sidewalk part of a fancy restaurant. The price for lunch for three of us is over a hundred bucks. The food is not even good, and all I had was a burger and coffee.
Then we go to the Lincoln Center Cinemas because they bring foreign movies, which we lack in FL. We end up watching Easy Virtue (typical Noel Coward), which Ned finds so so, but G doesn't like it. I do. The characters are very good and the plot ends with an interesting twist.
When we get out, it is raining. We walk some under the rain. Ned wants to get a taxi; G wants to go to the Barnes and Noble bookstore, like once before. My kid is like me, bookstore crazy. Ned wants to sit. So we take the escalators to the top floor, but all the seats in the coffee shop are taken. So we come down without looking at the books or sitting down anywhere to rest.
We get out and walk a bit more and get a taxi. When we come to 44th., the rain has stopped. We come up the room. We talk a bit. G asks us what we want to do the other two days. He doesn't like the idea of us going downtown,. He doesn't want anyone he knows to see him. Weird. Then he says he wants to take a walk. He comes back after a while and tells us he'll come to see us all three days. Hallelujah!
G leaves around five o'clock and I start writing. Too bad about the internet but there is little I can do about it.
After G leaves Ned goes to the deli to buy water. The water from the tap is undrinkable. NYC used to have great water. What happened?
Ned comes back with two big bottles. Then he sits at the edge of the bed, watching TV.
He says he'll go to a pharmacy to get some shaving cream because they took his Fusion at the checkpoint in West Palm Beach airport.
Then he doesn't go, and I am so tired and cold because he's made the room too cold, the exact opposite of what he does when we're home, I go to bed and sleep at 7:30 until about the same time next morning.
Day 3: Thursday
I wake up. I am still so tired. I take a shower. Do my hair and everything. I take all my medicines at the same time. Due to sleeping early, I forgot to take my nighttime meds.
In the meantime, Ned goes to buy shaving cream. He took a huge shaving cream, his favorite Fusion, without telling me, and they confiscated it at the checkpoint. He told me he'd use soap or something. If he had told me he was going to take it anyway, I'd have stopped him. Well, one experience is worth thousands of advice. Alla el! As the Latinos say. It is 8:15 now, and he just came in carrying a package.
Okay, he bought a cheap shaving cream and two bottles of water. Great! While he's out, G arrives. G wants to constantly go somewhere, but we're old and get tired easily. Ned does not decide easily. So what's new! G gets flustered and goes for a cooling-off walk.
I do not offer any opinions. Three different minds will be more confusing than two different minds. At the end we leave it to Ned who opts for going to the Macy's like we don't have Macy's in the Treasure Coast Mall at home.
The taxi driver is an odd man with a speech impediment, and he is talkative. He says, "What? You don't have any Macy's where you are? Why don't you ask me to take you to Gimbels?" Gimbels was around during the sixties or seventies, and we all remember that. It is one of those no-more stores. The taxi driver is a character. I try to put a mark in my mind for him. He'll make an excellent character in a story.
Ned walks around the men's department, all three stories of it. G is getting bored and so am I. We both roll eyes. Ned says he doesn't want to buy anything; he's only looking. I find a long-sleeved shirt on sale. We buy it. Now he's happy and we can leave Macy's. What G doesn't understand is that Ned is a buyer from Macy's at 34th. Each time we visit Manhattan, he has to buy something from Macy's at 34th, be it a pair of socks. That is the only place for him. It makes him happy.
After Macy's we go to Dervish at 47th between sixth and seventh avenues and have a spectacular lunch. G and Ned have doner and I order chicken shish kebab. With eggplant salad as appetizer. Near the chicken I get rice pilav and Hunkar Begendi, another eggplant dish that I love.
G. is impressed with the restaurant. And we're all in high heaven. Then we come to the hotel, G and Ned have a discussion about G's work situation. Then G and I go out of the room to get ice for the ice holder to keep Ned's leftover doner. G says "You know I work all the time. I'd like to work with other people but I can't stand them." "I know, Honey,"I say. "Don't worry about me thinking otherwise."
Afterwards G leaves. Ned falls asleep and I write a story. When G comes back, Ned is still sleeping. G. goes again; comes back at 7:30. We sit around the room and talk a bit. Then G leaves hugging me twice. He says he'll come back the next morning.
After he leaves, Ned and I walk to the Marriott Marquis. We sit at the promenade area but we don't get served. So we move further up. We call the Japanese waitress.
Doggone! They are all Japanese. They don't talk English some not well, some not at all. She says she'll serve us where we are at the promenade, although they only serve where we are on the weekends.
That's new! Anytime we used to sit there, some waitress used to show up. She says they only serve in the lounge. But the lounge is too noisy, besides it is dark and I can't watch people. I take some photos. The waitress brings us the menus, all Japanese. We are not Sushi people.
But it doesn't matter. The waitress has her eyes set on the newcomer, a handsome young man, who goes to sit at the bar in a nonchalant manner. She twirls around him and forgets all about us. We wait close to half an hour. Ned says, "Let's leave."
We get up to leave. The waitress runs to us. "I'm so sorry. I forgot about you. I totally forgot about you." Well okay. She is young and seems really upset. Far be it from me, to upset young people. "Don't worry about it; it is okay," I say and pull Ned down to sit.
She serves us our drink orders. I have a Guiness; Ned has milk. Usually it is the other way around. Except Ned is a Heineken man. We order Angel Hair pasta and cheese fondue. Delicious! Since the food comes from Encore in the atrium. Encore is one of our favorite places. We always go there. Even during the times when we stay in Long Island, if we come to the city, we stop by Encore for a meal as we do with Dervish.
I have a great time here, even if I just sit someplace and people-watch.
We walk to the hotel and miraculously my head is clear. Ned's isn't. Now who drank the Guinness?
Just when I am about to go out to get some ice. G calls to say he won't be coming the next day. He tells me to call him when we get home. Okay. I know why he doesn't want to come. He is still traumatized by 9/11, as I am, and Ned wants to take us downtown to the ground zero, although he says where he wants to go is NY Stock Exchange.
I know what Ned is up to. He wants us to face the pain. It has been eight years since and we have come to the city countless times, but I never wanted to go there. I know I can't stand it, but I more worry about the hate that man Osama put in my heart. My hate is not against a religion or a nation, but against all terrorists. I see them as cut off from the same cloth, even though reason tells me there may be innocents among them who could have been fooled by false promises. Still, turning the right cheek is a chore.
We get in bed and I can't fall asleep for a while. The last time I see the clock near the bed, it is 12:20.
Day 4 Friday
I get up at eight thirty with difficulty. My right foot hurts like hell. It will probably be a cortizone shot or worse, an operation. I'll have to see the podiatrist as soon as we get home.
We go down to the restaurant, I think, called Charlotte. I have a one egg breakfast. Orange juice is freshly squeezed and generously offered twice. eggs and potatoes are great. The toast is too dry and cold. Coffee is good but not hot enough. I think I truly dislike that person who sued MacDonald's for the spilling of hot coffee. Now no place sells really hot coffee.
Yet, I am happy, even happier that we didn't opt for the breakfast and theater package. People who got that package have to get up and serve themselves from the buffet. We got served by a very nice waiter.
Day four, last day of July
Although I am complaining about the lack of internet in the rooms, I really like this hotel. Our room is large. Bed is comfy and there is a leather armchair and a nice desk with chair. The TV is modern and big probably 36 inches; my guess it is LCD from the way it shows everyone fatter than they are. It is a treat to see the newscasters of NBC and CBS again. They have aged like us, but I think they look much better than us.
We come up to the room. Ned says we'll take a taxi to downtown. I don't object although my heart beats somewhat.
In the elevator, we meet with two young women. We talk. They are from Miami. One of them is Cuban. I tell them my daughter-in-law has family from Cuba in Miami. Now they are even friendlier. Maybe we'll meet up again with them somewhere in the hotel. They were really friendly.
We find a taxi almost right in front of the hotel even though the doorman is nowhere in sight to call us one. The driver tries to tell us where anything is. We know where everything is. We lived here so many years. The taxi leaves us near NY Stock Exchange.
I take pictures like any other tourist, even if I am nervous. The place is full of tourists and people who work. Also construction workers. Construction is all around here. Some buildings are brand new. Obviously rebuilt after the disaster.
We walk to the ground zero site. Something clogs my throat. I hope I don't have an asthma attack. They closed off the viewing platform. We get up a few stairs on a nearby building and I take photos. I can't believe I am doing this. Ned watches me. "Are you okay?" he asks. I nod. But I am not. I am near the disaster area. The disaster that marks the worst day of my life, although it is not a personal disaster, but a more profound more universal one. The kind that marks one's disappointment and anger at mankind.
My older son and I can't get over this. Probably we'll never get over this.
We walk a little more and find downtown Marriott. We use their facilities and sit there some, then we go have something to drink in Starbucks inside the hotel.
We had talked about eating lunch near the Hudson River and going to the Battery Park, but this is all we can take at the moment. We get a taxi to the hotel, but we don't go in. Ned wants a newspaper, not that he'll read it, probably he wants to get rid of the heaviness from seeing Ground Zero. I walk with him. They have gotten rid of the kiosks at every corner, but we still find one on Broadway. Broadway is happy; sunshine and smiles, people enjoying themselves, tourists all around. I have always loved Broadway, and now, it consoles me.
Ned gets his paper and we go to the hotel. He looks at a few pages and closes it. I take shower, my second for the day. Could this one clean out the disappointment slash hate for 9/11?
We look at Broadway openings. Most shows we have seen already. I am not going to a show whose plot and even script I already know.
After we come in Ned falls asleep, and I write only to lose what I have written to this quirky net-book.
When he wakes up, at 4:30, after two hours, we walk to Marriott Marquis to Encore. It used to be Encore would be open all the time. Even though it is Friday and about five PM, they don’t have the dinner menu and they don’t have everything from the lunch menu. This place used to be so great. It still is, but something happened and their service is not around the clock. That something is the failing economy hissing from every place like a poisonous snake.
The maitre’d is from Europe. He has been here for only ten years. “I am not an American,“ he says. I guess, from his accent and the words that he slips in, he is a Frenchman. He talks to us about his background and about ours. He talks to us as if trying to make up for making us wait and serving us whatever was available.
We go look at the showtimes and prices. No more 300 dollar orchestra seats. They have come down to 126 now.
It is raining outside. We walk back to the hotel. Ned buys some dessert from the deli across the street.
We come up and I pack some of my things because tomorrow is going back home.
Right now Ned is watching CNBC in the hotel room and I am writing what I can remember I wrote before this net-book ate it all up.
Ned had some foreign money with him when we came into the hotel. During the second day sometime, that money was stolen from a bag inside a drawer in the dresser. We didn't want to waste our time dealing with it and almost gave up on it. Suddenly it occurs to Ned to go downstairs to talk to them, and there's no stopping him. So he goes, then he comes back immediately. He says they took it seriously and security will be in the room in ten minutes. Thanks a lot! I am all undressed and in my nightgown, and I have the newspapers, my net-book, and a few other items scattered on the bed. So I get dressed in and pick up a bit. As soon as I am halfway ready, a young official comes in and questions us. He wants to know everything we did that day. Luckily, I have my journal to fall back on. Ned doesn't even remember we were in Lincoln Center and we came back to the hotel after watching a movie. I give him all he needs. He thanks us. Ned says we don't claim anything, since money is hard to trace, but we wanted to let them know for the hotel's sake.
Sure! My foot!
The hotel, honestly speaking, is a great hotel, but the wi-fi biz gets to me, and also, they charge us something we didn't get from the bar in the room. Plus the stealing of the money is too much. Maybe it is the economy pushing people into things like this.
Will I stay there again? I guess not. The room is great though and the location. Darn! Next time, I'll do more research.
Aug 1, Saturday
We pack our stuff. Go downstairs to Starbucks. Ned takes a table and tells me to get him a muffin and a cup of coffee. I go in line. Just when my turn comes, someone pulls my arm. I turn. It is Ned. He says, "Don't buy the muffin. I don't want it. Instead get me a bagel, no a croissant, no one of those things...I wonder which?" He's so funny. He keeps pointing to stuff. In the meantime, the person in front of me has stepped to the side to wait for her order; the guy at the counter is waiting for my order; there's a long line of people behind me, and Ned is going through a weird I-don't-know-what-I-want phase. I don't usually get impatient with him, but I do. "Make up your mind. It is my turn," I say annoyedly. Then I don't wait for him, and I order a croissant for him, plus the coffees and my juice drink. He says, "Okay, croissant is good." We hear people giggling. He tells me later that when I told him it was my turn, a couple laughed out loud, almost doubling over. Well, at least we brightened up some people's day.
Then we leave. They give us the hotel's limo for the price of a taxi to take us to the airport. The drive is smooth and the driver is very nice. Sure beats the taxi.
They had closed part of the airport in the morning, because some nincompoop threatened. They did find a contraption like a kiddy toy with batteries attached or something. The man must be demented, but because of him, most flights are delayed. Ours is on time, but we have to go to the ticket counter twice to get our gate assignments. While we are waiting on line for the gate assignments we talk to some young people from Miami. They ask us, with apologies, how long we had been together. When we tell them, they ask us for relationship advice. We give them what we know. "Accept the other person as is." We must have been married much longer than they have lived so far.
I try to go online in the airport. Darn it! No internet. Actually there is one, given by a Chinese company. If you pay 59 dollars. The company's name is Bo-ing. Wasn't internet free at the airports earlier or am I in a parallel universe?
Please God, I don't want to hate the Chinese!
We sit in some place together with people sitting in wait for Jet Blue at Gate 5 to take us to PBI. It is crowded. I bet it will be a full flight. A young man with a cap is wearing ear-pods. Is he listening to something or does he not want to have to acknowledge anyone’s glance or smile? It must be cool to be so detached.
A few men read newspapers. Some sit staring into space lost in thought. I wonder if their thoughts will give them wings. I write on my pieces of paper anything that grabs my fancy, lists, some simple poetry of few lines, words to describe whatever I can see, etc.
But we are hungry and there'll be no food in the plane. I get up to buy a couple of great pretzels -Annie's Pretzels or something like that, the best I ate anywhere- and two bottles of water. That is lunch, together with the orange juice and munchies package they'll give us in the plane.
They take us in first because we are sitting in row 11, the exit row which costs more, and we'll have to open the exit door, should something nasty happen. We pay extra and promise to do the work. It must be our luck to have to pay to work for other people. But then, don't we have to pay for everything!
Jet Blue has TV but they take money for earphones. We have our earphones with us. So we're okay. Since it is Saturday, there isn't much news except on Fox channel and I'll be darned if I watch any Fox channel ever again. So I keep switching from Food channel to HGTV to Animal Planet to Travel Channel to National Geographic to Discovery. They all have just too many ads on the weekend. It doesn't matter though, because the flight is very smooth, unlike the bumpy one on the way to NYC.
We get out of the plane and find our car easily where we left it, waiting for us. On the way out, we go to the pay-by-credit-card checkout, which is unmanned, and there are no decent instructions anywhere. We push the button for help; no one comes. Thank you, PBI parking! You forgot old people live here.
So we back out of there and go to the pay-with-cash line, which is manned. It costs only 63 bucks for five days, which is half the price had we taken the shuttle. You win some, you lose some.
As soon as we get home, I cook us supper. Tomato soup, Spanish Omelet, baked potatoes, and tomato salad. Not bad!
Then I put in my photos and copy this mini travel journal from my net-book, in the wee hours of the morning, today.
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